Cloud over the Sun

It’s a surprise to find you
seated in your mind’s cemetery
eating crow among the tombstones.
I thought the street of your thoughts
was a lively place, crowded with
eager friends to prove your faith
in the company a man keeps.
I suppose rain falls in the
cemetery and muffles birdsong,
keeps the sky low and trees dark,
I’ve walked those paths myself.
I’d like to show you a hidden valley
where a mountain stream talks
water words, birds wink in and out
of aspen trees, sky flowers collect
in clumps of color, and a
chipmunk welcomes me if I
feed him, and no one but me
makes any human cry.